


Learning New Tricks

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, just a one off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: There's a reason Sherlock always avoids travelling in police cars.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telperion_15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for telperion_15, who gave the prompt “police car”.
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010.

“Get in the car, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, holding the door open and waiting, with narrowed eyes, until Sherlock slipped inside, his arms wrapped around himself. He hunched up his feet so that his knees were resting on the dashboard and glared through the windscreen, pointedly not looking in Lestrade's direction as the policeman moved around and sat down behind the steering wheel.

There was a tense silence while Lestrade weighed up his options. Provoking Sherlock into talking about the case would at least stop the younger man from sulking, but then again, Lestrade already had a Sherlock-induced headache, and he certainly didn't need thirty more minutes of hearing how incompetent he was. If he were that incompetent he wouldn't have found the brother-in-law after all.

“Sheer guess work,” Sherlock said into the window. Lestrade glared at him; he hated both that Sherlock seemed so easily to read his mind and that his own face betrayed him so easily.

“I'm simply more observant than 99.9% of the population,” Sherlock responded to Lestrade's glare.

“I take it you're including yourself and Mycroft in that, then?” Lestrade asked, pointedly keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

Sherlock whipped around his head so quickly Lestrade almost winced in sympathy with Sherlock's neck muscles.

“Has he been to see you again?” Sherlock demanded. Lestrade considered not answering before sighing and shaking his head.

“Not since I told him I'd let you work with me to keep you from killing yourself and not for any money he might see fit to deposit in my account.”

Sherlock nodded and turned to look out of the window again. If Lestrade didn't know better he'd swear that Sherlock's nod had almost been proud.

Of course he did know better.

“He's still bloody following me, though.”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Well, not him personally, obviously,” Lestrade acknowledged, shooting Sherlock a smile. “Can you imagine?”

Sherlock seemed to reluctantly smile back for an instant and Lestrade thought it best to count it as a win.

“Are you sure it's one of his people?” Sherlock asked, though in that infuriating way he had of asking a question it was obvious he already knew the answer to.

“I know a spook when I see one,” Lestrade said, sharply. Sherlock responded by wrapping his coat even more tightly around himself.

“I haven't been inside a police car since the night you pulled me out of the Thames,” Sherlock said after five minutes. Lestrade glanced over at him, surprised that he would mention it at all. Or that he could even remember it – he'd been pretty out of it that day, cold and other things affecting his mind in ways Lestrade hoped vehemently to never see again.

“It was quicker than waiting for an ambulance,” Lestrade said. He realised how defensive he sounded when Sherlock turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“It was a perfectly logical decision.”

“Right,” Lestrade said. This time he turned his head towards the window and wondered why on earth he'd chosen this route when he knew it always got like this at rush hour – full of idiots beeping their horns in an attempt to make the traffic move, despite there being nowhere for it to move to.

“Did I thank you for saving my life?”

Lestrade pretended to think about it for a moment, though he knew, and had been stung by it at the time. “No,” he said. He'd got over it. He'd accepted that it was just Sherlock's way and that of all the things about Sherlock that he hoped to change, that was probably the least important.

“Perhaps I should?”

Lestrade looked over at Sherlock who was now staring at him with a calculating eye. “ _Sherlock?_ ”

“It's the smell. The car reminds me of the dampness of my shirt sticking to the upholstery. And the foolish trap I allowed myself to get caught up in. I overestimated by own abilities to undergo withdrawal completely on my own.”

Lestrade stayed silent. Sherlock didn’t often open up to him these days, not now that he had John Watson at his beck and call, so he wasn't about to break the mood just yet.

“Sense memory is a powerful emotion.”

“Hmm,” Lestrade said. He suddenly felt even less sure of Sherlock's motives than usual.

“New memories can sometimes replace old ones, however.” Sherlock moved his legs down and looked purposefully at Lestrade. Lestrade looked back at him, trying not to blink too rapidly. He'd been around Sherlock long enough not to get intimated. Just wrong-footed.

Because suddenly Sherlock was placing a hand on Lestrade's thigh and edging closer to him. Lestrade looked down at the hand and then over at Sherlock.

“No.”

“No?”

“No way in hell am I - “

“Are you what, Lestrade? Getting off in public or at my hand?”

Lestrade knew he had hesitated for a fraction too long when Sherlock merely gave a predatory smile and started to undo Lestrade's trousers.

“We could get arrested,” Lestrade hissed. He could just imagine the look on Donovan's face if she found out about this.

“So arrest me,” Sherlock replied. Lestrade's reply was cut off however, as Sherlock freed his half-hard cock (a permanent state around Sherlock that he'd long given up any pretence of hiding from the other man) and ran his fingers along it.

 _”Sherlock,_ ” Lestrade growled but Sherlock's grin became even more predatory. Lestrade knew he was forever doomed though when Sherlock sank to his knees, in what must have been a painful position for him, and began to suck Lestrade's cock.

Lestrade's hands tightened on the steering-wheel so much that he knew there would be unexplainable bruises on them in the morning. He couldn’t think of anything else after that except the delicious feel of Sherlock's talented mouth, licking and sucking and, on occasion, gazing teeth, along his aching erection. Lestrade was completely done for when Sherlock's hands joined his mouth, though, and Lestrade was coming harder than he had in a ridiculously long time.

“Yes,” Sherlock said after he had regained his seat and the traffic ahead of them started to thin, “I don't think I'm going to have a problem with police cars any more.”

Lestrade wished that he could say the same.


End file.
